Steak Tartare - Photo source: Wikipedia.org
Before leaving the office yesterday a colleague of mine asked me if I wanted to have a steak tartare. He was going to order it specially from a butcher that he knows for lunch today. He had it before and he said it was excellent. Since I work the evening shift and the fact that it's made of raw meat and raw egg I was not so sure if I should order some and my colleague could then leave it in the fridge until I can eat it 8 hours later, don't know if it's safe. I told him my concerns and he told me that the butcher closes at 6:30 PM, he could make a special order for me and pick it up just before the butcher closes so that I can have it fresh. I told him that it would be great if he can do that, so I placed my order and thanked him for his kindness. The last time I had a steak tartare was in spring this year, my mouth was watering just imagining it.
"Euh...!"
"Nasty!"
"Gag!"
"Are you really going to eat that?"
"It's dead...now it's going to kill you!"
"Are you crazy...??!! What about food poisoning...??!!"
These are comments that I've heard whenever I ordered a steak tartare. Yeah so what if it's raw? So what if people look at me funny when I order it? So what if I look like a prehistoric man when I eat it? It looks good, it smells good, it tastes good and from experience, I have more chance of catching a very bad flu than catching anything from eating a steak tartare.
Since I was born until I graduated from high school I lived in Indonesia with my family and we often came to Switzerland for a vacation usually in summer or in winter for Christmas and New Year. When we were in Switzerland we usually stayed in my grandma's house in a small village called Meiringen in the German speaking part of Switzerland where my dad was born. It was in this village that I had my first taste of....blooooood.....mwahahahahaa....! Just kidding, but I did have my first taste of steak tartare. By the way, for those of you who are fans of Sherlock Holmes, you surely have heard of this famous village in Switzerland. For those of you who don't know who Sherlock Holmes is or those of you who are fans of Sherlock Holmes but have no idea what I'm talking about, try to Google "Meiringen" or just click on the link, and...you guys need to read more classic literature.
Anyways, it all began in one cold winter night a couple of days after Christmas. I was in my early teens. As usual during Christmas vacation my family and I came and stayed at my grandma's house. My sister and her family came to visit us. I can't remember where they lived back then but it was in the French part of Switzerland, about three hours away from Meiringen. And I can't remember why or how we all ended up outside searching for a place to eat, but there we were walking in a cold winter night, scanning the menus posted outside of every restaurant that we can find.
After about half an hour of fruitless search we finally turn to my grandma who was walking slowly and chatting with everybody, she was the only one who had not given any comments on any of the restaurants that we crossed. My dad and my sister were the ones who spoke to her because my mom and I don't speak Swiss German, my brother was too young to understand what's going on and my nephew was still a baby. My grandma spoke very little English, I could probably speak to her but it would probably take another half an hour before we can decide where to go because of the language barrier.
A couple of minutes later my dad said that we're going to this one good restaurant in a hotel that my grandma knows. After a short ten minutes walk we were all sitting comfortably in a warm restaurant looking at the menu. At one point my mom who sat next to me said "Den...they have steak tartare."
"Where?" I asked, and my mom showed me where it was on the menu.
"Do you want to try it?" she asked.
I didn't answer right away. I had heard of this barbaric dish of raw meat that westerners eat. I had never seen it and until then I didn't even believe that such a disgusting dish existed. Back then I couldn't imagine that someone would be crazy enough to eat raw meat. Mind you, I came from a different country with completely different culture and background. Butchers in Indonesian traditional markets are not what you normally see. The Indonesian traditional markets are probably similar to the farmers' market in the western world but without the technology and without the strict health and sanitary regulations. No freezer, no refrigeration, no air conditioning, they’re always situated in the open air, around 30 degrees celcius, that's approximately 86 degrees Fahrenheit, and lots of flies! Eating raw meat from these butchers is like signing your own death warrant.
But there it was on the menu, steak tartare. The description was in Swiss German and like I said I don't understand a word of it. My sister who overheard my mom and I talked about the dish said to me "Den, you should try it" and she explained to me what steak tartare is all about.
I looked at her and asked "Have you tried it?"
My sister nodded and said "Yeah, it's good."
Still very sceptical but not wanting to look like a sissy I took a deep breath and said "Ok, I'll try it."
When our waiter came to take our orders and it was my turn the words seemed to come out on their own even when my brain screamed "Order a hamburger instead, it's steak tartare and it's cooked!"
My dad looked at me and asked "Are you sure?" I nodded my head weakly.
"Do you know what it is?" he asked again knowing that the description of the dish was in Swiss German. I nodded again with a more confidence this time again not to look like a sissy saying "Yeah, I know what it is. Bring it on!"
"Ok" he said and he confirmed to the waiter what I wanted.
As we waited for our meals we chatted, joked around and I completely forgot what I ordered. When the waiter came back with our orders he, of course, served the ladies first. Then, as if he wanted to shine a spot light on me, he served my meal before any of the gents on the table and said with a very heavy German accent "Enjoy!"
I looked at the plate in front of me and, I kid you not, I could feel the blood in my body rushed to my feet. No, I was not going to faint, but it hit me suddenly, it's not a joke, it really exists, it's in front of me and I have to eat it.
I looked around and realized that everybody was watching me. My dad was a chef who in his career had cooked for famous people including one of the kings of Thailand before he moved to other line of work. Being an ex-chef my dad hates wasting food, he always told me and my brother "Finish the food on your plates." And he always added "Do you know what those children in the poor countries would do to have your food?" So, when my dad saw my expression he said "you ordered it, now you eat it"
"I know, I know..." I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
I looked down again on my plate and saw a pile of raw meat the shape of a hamburger patty only larger, about 4 inches in diameter and about 1 inch thick. There were capers, chopped onion, powdered paprika and cayenne pepper, freshly ground black pepper in small bowls around my plate and I remember seeing this yellow round thing on top of the raw meat that looked like a raw egg yolk. I immediately knew what it was but I wanted a confirmation "Is this a raw egg?"
"Yes it is" my sister said. I told you it has an egg in it, she added.
"Yeah, but you never told me it's going to be raw" I thought to myself.
I picked my fork and poke the meat slowly not knowing what to do. "So how do I do this?" I asked to anybody who would listen.
"You mix everything up yourself" my sister said. You put the capers, onions, the red powder thing there season it with salt and pepper and mix it all up. Then you take the toasts in that little basket there, put the meat on it and eat it. Simple, my sister said.
"Uh-huh, simple" I said sarcastically. Do you put ALL of the other stuff in? I asked.
"No, you put as much or as little as you want, you know, prepare it to your liking" my sister replied.
So there I was, staring at the most unimaginable dish that I could ever come face to face with back then and I had to prepare it to my liking. My previous cooking experience was limited to making omelets, scrambled eggs and occasionally some fried rice with left over meat that was already cooked. I had not graduated to dealing with raw meat. Hell...! How am I going to prepare this dish to my liking, I don't even know how it's supposed to taste like.
I felt all eyes around the table were focused on me. I placed my fork leaning it on the edge of my plate, and took the table spoon that was placed near the capers bowl.
"Here it goes..." I said to myself. I took a table spoon full of capers and sprinkle it on top of the meat. I did the same with the onions and a little bit of the powdered paprika and cayenne pepper. Used my hand to take a pinch of the freshly ground pepper and asked for the salt shaker. After I seasoned the meat I took my fork again and did a cutting motion on the egg yolk. As the membrane broke the yolk started to spread on top of the meat. Yellow liquid snaked between and around the pieces of capers and chopped onions. I quickly picked my knife with my other hand and started to mix everything together.
When I was done what was on my plate looked like something that I can only describe as a pile of gooey mess. I looked at it and thought to myself "You see what your pathetic pride got you into? You stupid idiot!"
I don't know how long I stared at my plate but I had to snap myself out of the disbelieve as everybody else started chatting and laughing as if they were trying to leave me alone to get more acquainted with my dinner. I threw away all my common senses when I placed my order, it was time to throw cautions, blaring sirens, red flags and the rest of the danger signs out of my head and dive in. It's put up or shut up time.
I took a piece of triangular piece of toast from the basket near my plate, took a small amount of the goo and put it on one of the tip of the toast. I took a little sniff at it and it doesn't smell as bad as I imagined. I can only smell the capers and the onion...maybe...a little hint of raw beef smell but it wasn't bad. I wish I could write that I added a big spoonful of meat on my toast took a big bite out of it and gave out a loud moan of satisfaction, but that will be a lie. The truth is I took a small nip at the edge of the toast, very tiny nip, and attempted to chew the small crumb in my mouth with my front teeth before swallowing. Yeah it wasn't a good idea, I didn't taste anything and now I have to start again. I took a deep breath, held it and took in the dime sized goo and the toast under it. I chewed as quickly as I could and swallowed. I didn't choke, didn't gag, didn't want to throw up.....it wasn't bad!
I started to have more courage to put more of the meat goo on my toast, half a spoonful this time. I took all of it in my mouth and started to chew, slowly, savoring the texture, the taste, the aroma before I swallowed. The texture was crunchy from the toast and the meat was slimy and slightly chewy, like overcooked pasta. The raw egg and seasoning somehow became some kind of sauce making everything moist, spicy and tasty. I could taste the capers and the onion which were quite strong and the subtle irony taste from the raw meat. A little bit more salt and some more of the powdered paprika, cayenne pepper and fresh ground pepper to give it a bit more kick, a little less capers and onion next time and I had just learned how to prepare a steak tartare and season it to MY liking. I was really digging in when my sister asked "Do you like it?"
"Yeah, this is not bad at all" I replied before I took another mouthful. My response was sincere, I really liked it. There was nothing prehistoric or barbaric about it. Nobody is trying to go back to nature in any way. It's just another delicacy amongst other delicacies in the culinary world.
So that was how it all begin. What started as a young man's stupid, prideful attempt to show bravado became my introduction to the world of culinary adventure. I would like to thank my mom for offering and allowing me to taste something that I normally wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole back then. I also would like to thank my sister for, unknowingly, pulling out my childish pride of not wanting to be beaten by a girl which showed me the path to every possible culinary adventure there is out there. And, most of all I would like to thank my grandma who suggested the restaurant. If we had gone somewhere else I would probably still think that steak tartare is a barbaric way of eating meat. Rest in peace grossmutti....
Take away Steak Tartare from a butcher in Geneva, Switzerland
As for the steak tartare that my coleague ordered. He was right, it was excellent. I would like it more with a little bit more of a kick, but it was my fault, I didn't specifically ask for it, but it was excellent nonetheless. I have to ask him next time I see him for the address of his butcher, I'll surely order again from the butcher in the future.
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